


the words you weave, the words i leave

by isuilde



Series: home [2]
Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Domesticity, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, and Masumi popping out just because
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 23:01:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17755145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isuilde/pseuds/isuilde
Summary: Before he goes, Omi checks on Tsuzuru.Coda from cupping the warmth in your hands (and protect it).Chinese translation available by the lovely @living2333 on twitter:http://2016225.lofter.com/post/1ddaeb3b_12e6afb64





	the words you weave, the words i leave

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet is a coda from a fic where Chikage tries to protect his new family and overreacts a lot. You don’t have to read it for this ficlet, but it gives a bit more context.
> 
> (for some reason the link won’t work ao3 whyyy but anyway it’s the first work in this series if you wanna read it)
> 
> I really just wanted to write soft OmiTsuzu. Please talk to me more about Omi and Tsuzuru.
> 
> Edit: the talented and really, really kind @living2333 on twitter drew some scenes in this fic and I am dead because they’re super adorable! Please also check it (and their other beautiful art!!) out here: https://twitter.com/living2333/status/1118887554583949312?s=21

Tsuzuru is, as he’d expected, still awake.

There’s something about the younger boy, bathed in the dim light of the table lamp and the laptop’s screen, that makes something in Omi’s chest tighten. This is a boy whose dream is literally made out of stories woven to be given to others whose dream is to live out the stories. Omi’s dream—once only Nachi’s but now his own, too—will never take shape if it isn’t for the stories Tsuzuru writes, and he thinks perhaps it’s also why he falls in love.

He glances up at the other bed. Masumi is sound asleep—there’s not a blink of light from his phone, so it doesn’t seem that he’s staying up late. Omi slips into the room quietly, glad that he’s one of the fewer ones among the residents to have express permission to enter without knocking, and closes the door behind him.

Tsuzuru doesn’t even notice.

Too deep in his own world, in the words he’s stringing to give the characters a tangible shape. Doesn’t even flinch when Omi’s fingers find his shoulder, settling with the weight of comfort and familiarity, and for a second, Omi entertains the thought of hugging the boy from behind—of burying himself in Tsuzuru’s scent and warmth before he has to step out into the biting cold autumn night after Sakyo and Azami.

But the the sounds of keyboard clicks steadily on, words after words lining down the computer screen, and Omi smiles.

“Be back for breakfast,” he whispers, and bends down to press a kiss on top of Tsuzuru’s head. “Promise.”

He thinks the steady noise of keyboard clacking pause for a split-second, but that’s probably just his imagination, because Tsuzuru is still staring at the computer intently, laser focus on every word he’s typing. Good, Omi thinks, before he takes a step back and lets go of Tsuzuru’s shoulder. The sooner Tsuzuru finish, the better. Honestly, the younger boy could use a bit more sleep in his life.

“—‘s going on...?” Masumi’s sleepy voice comes from above. Omi cranes his head, smiles at the tuft of dark hair popping out of the blankets. “What are you doing here?”

“Just checking in,” Omi says softly. “You can go back to sleep.”

Masumi yawns. “Don’t sneak in just to be lovey-dovey at three in the morning.”

And oh, doesn’t that send considerable heat up Omi’s cheeks. He’s glad it’s dark enough that Masumi probably can’t see it. With a nervous laugh, he waves at Masumi and mouths good night, throwing a glance back at Tsuzuru before slipping out of the room just as quietly as he had come in.

He has to be in the garage and meet Sakoda in less than five minutes after all.

——-o0o——-

They come home at five in the morning.

One of Sakyo-san’s lenses is cracked and Azami has a black eye and a non-threatening wound on his arm where a knife had nicked the skin open. Omi thinks he might have sprained his wrist, but it’s nothing to worry about so he smiles his way through the autumn troupe members’ relieved welcome and Sakyo-san’s lecture, and doesn’t say anything. The Director sends them all to sleep, but Omi goes to the kitchen anyway, because he’s still jittery from the adrenaline and might as well make breakfast while he’s at it.

Except Tsuzuru is sitting on the kitchen counter, eyes only half-open as sleep tugs at them heavy, and really, Omi can’t help but chuckle and presses a kiss against Tsuzuru’s forehead.

The younger boy jerks awake. “Omi-san!” he says, relief apparent in his eyes. “You’re back!”

“I did say I’ll be back for breakfast,” Omi smiles, lets Tsuzuru go and reaches for the apron hanging by the refrigerator. Deft fingers make short work of the apron ties before opening the fridge to check what they have for breakfast. “Should I make pancakes this morning?”

“We have a jar of blueberry jam still unopened,” Tsuzuru tells him, shuffling into the kitchen himself. When Omi closes the fridge with a box of eggs and a tupperware of mixed fruits in his arm, Tsuzuru has a jar of blueberry jam from the cupboard. “Should I help?”

“If you’re not too sleepy?” Omi’s smile turns sheepish, because in a way, this is him being selfish. They rarely get a moment in the dorm for just the two of them, and he appreciates Tsuzuru’s presence after the adventure last night. “I’ll whisk the eggs, you can start the coffee.”

Still, Tsuzuru’s hand finds his wrist when Omi sets the ingredients on the counter.

“I thought I heard you come in. Last night.” There’s a soft shade of red dusting Tsuzuru’s cheeks. “But, umm, I wasn’t sure? I was in the zone, kinda. But—you did come in, right? You said you’d be back for breakfast..”

Omi laughs softly. Doesn’t answer, just pulls Tsuzuru’s shoulder and places a kiss on top of his head, the way he’d done so last night.

Tsuzuru’s shoulder relaxes. “Was everything okay...?”

Omi smiles. “Yeah, no worries.”

“Okay then,” Tsuzuru says. Nods to himself, and reaches for the eggs, the bowl and the whisk. “Okay.”

Omi doesn’t tell him about his probably sprained wrist, but he lets Tsuzuru whisk the pancake batter and takes to chop the fruits instead—arms gently brushing the entire time, their breath and quiet laughter in sync with the quiet whisper of morning air.

The pan heats and the coffeemaker whines to life. Their morning begins.

——-o0o——-

**Author's Note:**

> liber has a hidden omitsuzu agenda istg
> 
> (i’m half joking. anyway, find me on twitter @isuilde if you wanna see me die over omi and tsuzuru and pretty much everyone else)


End file.
